


Where I Come From

by naturally_geeky



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek is probably early 30s then, F/F, F/M, Florist Boyd, Florist Erica, I don't know what Derek does yet, Isaac manages a bank, M/M, Pack Feels, Stiles can draw, Stiles has a degree in Folklore, Stiles is in his mid 20s, Stiles wants to be a tattoo artist, Tattooed Stiles, The whole pack is in their 20s, sterek is endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:14:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naturally_geeky/pseuds/naturally_geeky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been years since Stiles was back in Beacon Hills. It wasn’t that he had left because there was too much shit going on with werewolves, witches and the vast variety of other supernatural beings that had decided to attack or call Beacon Hills their own. He had left 8 years ago because of school; to get a career and make money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where I Come From

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a story I just came up with suddenly and thought I'd try writing it. I don't have the best track record for completing works, but if this one gets enough input and views, I may actually finish it. 
> 
> The warnings and tags will increase as I write - I don't really know where this is going just yet - so no need to worry about that. It's definitely a Sterek endgame fic.

  
_I've got these letters tattooed on my arm_  
That remind me each second of where I come from  
And the long hard road to get me back home  
Home by American Authors

 

It had been years since Stiles was back in Beacon Hills. It wasn’t that he had left because there was too much shit going on with werewolves, witches and the vast variety of other supernatural beings that had decided to attack or call Beacon Hills their own. He had left 8 years ago because of school; to get a career and make money.

He had graduated from Berkeley with a Masters in Folklore. Starting out, he hadn't quite known what he wanted to do with his life. Stiles had always though that he’d be able to teach at the local college (if he could get a job), but he knew he didn’t want to end up being be one of those kids with a great education who worked at a Starbucks because they didn’t live in an area where their degree meant anything.

No, Stiles knew he would be different. He had a job interview at the Beacon Hills’ Library in a couple of days, and sketchbook full of tattoo ideas that had popped into his head over the last 8 years away. Things from ancient Slavic folklore symbols, to this rose he found in one of the National Parks near the University, to his left hand ( _that_ wasn’t a tattoo design, he just wanted to practice drawing realistic fingers). 

The young man entered Beacon Hills around 3pm on a Saturday. His hatchback filled to the brim with stuff that he’d accumulated over the years he’d been gone. His new (to him) hatchback was a 2010 Suzuki Hatchback that he’d bought with the intention of commuting to school with, not lugging all of his stuff the few hours it took to get to Beacon Hills from Berkeley. It had been years since he’d had to retire his powder blue Jeep, Roscoe. Although Roscoe had gotten him through high school and most of University, the poor thing was costing him an arm, a leg, and his first born child to keep in running condition. It had taken a year for him to decide to retire the Jeep, realizing that his student loans were never meant to pay for the vehicle (despite him using a good chunk of it to rebuild his front brake system).

A smile crept onto Stiles’ face as he past the “Welcome to Beacon Hills” sign. _Home,_ he thought, _I’m finally back for good. I wonder what’s changed._ Instead of heading straight to his dad’s house, he decided to take a detour to check out how much the town had changed in the 8 years since his last stay. Sure he’d visited briefly to see his father, but the two of them had decided early on that it was just easier for Sheriff Stilinski to take the trip to visit Stiles instead. With all the work that Stiles had to do to keep his grades up, and the time-off the department forced the man to take, it was just simpler. 

New stores had opened along the main drag, some that Stiles had never heard of before but seemed to be doing quite well for themselves. The movie theatre had gotten a face-lift, as well as a few other shops that Stiles had remembered as being very dark and closed off. The young man’s smile grew with this new information, it seemed like things were finally settling down in crazy town.

* * * * *

After his small adventure had come to an end, he’d take the trip back to his old house. Pulling into the driveway, he noticed that nothing had changed, and that brought happiness to the boy. As he pushed open the driver’s side door, his father appeared in the doorway of the house, making his way over to his son.

“That trip didn’t take you long,” the Sheriff said, walking over to his son.

“When you’re the son of a Sheriff, speed laws just don’t apply to you anymore. I’m making sure my defensive driving skills are still up to par,” Stiles replied, pulling his father into a big hug.

“So you’re finally moving back,” his dad continued, “I thought with your degree, you’d want to move to LA or San Francisco to make sure you could use it.”

“Use my degree? Jeez dad, what have they been teaching you these days? Didn’t you know kids go to University just to spend an insane amount of their parents’ money?”

“Sure kid,” the Sheriff laughed, pulling out of the hug and patting his son on his shoulder. “C’mon, have you eaten lunch yet?”

“Not yet,” Stiles smiled, following his father into the house. 

Stiles’ childhood house hadn’t changed much at all over the years. The placement of the photos on the wall had be switched, displaying their old life and their new life. There were still plenty of pictures of the Sheriff, Stiles, and Claudia, but there were also new photos of Stiles and Scott, the Sheriff and Melissa, as well as a group photo of the pack. 

The young man entered the kitchen to see his father cutting two sandwiches in half and placing them on plates. Turkey and cheese sandwiches on brown bread, Stiles was smirking at the choice his father made. 

“So Melissa has been keeping up with the healthily eating, I see,” he joked, grabbing one of the plates off the counter.

The Sheriff side-eyed his son, “How could I get away with eating anyway else these days, you keep texting her to make sure she remembers that I have high cholesterol, and that you needed me around to attend your wedding… whenever that is. You’ve yet to stay in a relationship longer than a year.”

Stiles looked away, a blush creeping across his pale, freckled cheeks, embarrassed that his father hadn’t met many of the people he’d dated. “It’s not my fault the just can’t handle my awesomeness,” he replied, regaining his composure. “Plus, when you study Folklore, people don’t tend to take you seriously if you go blabbering about full moons and werewolves. I’m just glad that I’ve got it as an excuse, or else I’d end up in the looney bin.” Taking a couple bites of his sandwich, he glanced up at his dad again, “How is the pack anyway?”

The Sheriff had known about the supernatural since Stiles was in high school, and once the boy had left the town, he’d continued to help the pack as much as he could without alerting the rest of the force. “They aren’t bad,” the man started, setting down the last half of his sandwich back into the plate. “Scott’s been working at Deaton’s, got his degree to become a Vet and Deaton has let him work full-time with him. Business seems to be booming if Mrs. Dumas from down the road has anything to say about it.” Mrs. Dumas had helped the two of them out a lot when Claudia had passed away, and Stiles had mowed her lawn for many summers to help make a little extra money. “Isaac is working at the bank as a manager now, Boyd and Erica opened a floral shop where the old furniture store was, you know down on Base? Derek had mentioned he wanted to finally get around to demolishing the old Hale house and build something nicer on the lot. I helped him reclaim the property recently, since the town took it over when you guys were in high school. When I told him you were coming back, he said if you wanted something part-time while you looked for more work, he’d be happy to have you help him.”

Closed lips turn upwards as Stiles smirked, “I was wondering when he’d finally decide to do something about that house. It was creepy,” he noted, “and probably not that safe. I can’t believe Derek had lived there for a while when he first moved back.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do,” his father said, collecting the empty plates and putting them in the sink. “It was his family’s home. You wouldn’t be able to demolish this house if something happened to it.”

“You’re right,” Stiles said quietly, “too many memories.”

* * * * *

The rest of the day went by quite quickly for Stiles. His father had helped unpack his small car, putting the stuff into their garage so Stiles could drive and not feel claustrophobic any more than he already did. He’d have to start his search for a new apartment on Monday once he was finished with his job interview at the Library. 

The two Stilinski’s had taken a trip to the grocery store to fill the fridge with food, knowing Stiles still ate like a teenager. Once they’d unpacked the bags, Stiles decided it was time to visit the old Hale house, and see what progress Derek had made.

The trip had taken him no more than 10 minutes to do thanks to the well maintained entrance and drive way. Years had been good for the property. A few large, dead trees has been removed, as well as the over growth of bushes that had decided to take over the gravel driveway. Now things looked well-kept and loved. A few new trees had been planted in the front yard, the grass was greener than ever and Stiles noticed a pond around the back that he never noticed before. 

Pulling up to the crumbling house, Stiles got out of the car and wandered around quietly.

“This is private property,” a voice came from behind, forcing Stiles to look away from the pond and towards a man in a blue Henley.

“You know, last I heard the town owned the property,” he said with a smirk, lips drawn to a thin smile.

“Well last I heard you hadn’t been back in town since your second year of University, so really, your hearing must suck,” Derek replied, walking over to where Stiles was standing. “It’s good to see you back,” he spoke again, hand clasping on the younger man’s shoulder briefly. “It looks like you’ve finally grown into yourself.”

“That’s what you get when you leave for 8 years, I’m not 18 anymore, and I’ll be 26 in a few months,” he spoke with a smile, “You’ve changed a lot too. Your facial expression isn’t nearly as constipated looking as it used to be, and colour! You’re actually wearing a blue top, what the Hell, I thought you were Batman with all your blacks and very, very dark greys.”

Rolling his eyes, Derek turned and started walking back to the decrepit house. “Are you here to help, or insult my fashion sense?”

“Dude, fashion sense? Wearing Henley’s all the time isn’t quite the same thing.”

Stopping and turning on his heel, Derek peered at Stiles, “And plaid shirts over graphic tees were any better?”

Stiles’ hand clasped over his chest, above his heart, and his plump lips fell open, “I’m hurt, Derek, I did that all for you!”

“Sure you did,” Derek replied sarcastically, turning and walking away. “Are you going to follow me, or going to keep standing there looking like a dumbass?”

Stiles jogged up after him, “I’ll have you know I graduated in the top of my class, I am in no ways a dumbass… anymore. That was just a phase I went through in high school, I’m over that now,” he explained before tripping over a rock, arms flailing around in a windmill type manner, and almost falling to the ground.

A large hand grabbed the back of his shirt, pulling him back into the upright position. “Uh huh,” was the reply from Derek, “Well, if you’re not a dumbass anymore, it’s good to know you’re still a spaz.”

Stiles mouth gapped open and closed like a Goldfish waiting for food. “I’m not a spaz,” he tried, earning a raised eyebrow from Derek, “Okay, I’m not as much of a spaz as I was before.”

“Whatever you say, Stiles.”

From then on, the two walked the remaining 30 feet to the house. The roof had been fully removed, as well as most of the walls. There were piles of old, rotten wood around the side of the house that Stiles only assumed were waiting to be taken to the dump since nothing was salvageable. 

“So dad said you wanted my help with the demolition, but it looks like you’ve got it all under control so far.”

With a sigh, Derek grabbed the beaten pair of work gloves he’d rested on the wood pile only moments before Stiles had shown up. “That was because before Boyd and Erica bought the shop, they had spare time to help out. Now that they’re getting things sorted out there, they just can’t anymore.”

“Oh,” Stiles replied thoughtfully, “I’ve got a job interview at the Library on Monday at 10, but that’s the only time I’ll be busy. So I can help out anytime other than then.”

“Sure, that sounds good,” Derek commented, “Do you want to start when it’s over on Monday? That way you’ve got a few days to settle in and spend time with your dad?”

Stiles pulled his cellphone out of his pocket when it vibrated, and glanced at it momentarily. “Sure, that works. I’ve actually gotta run though, Dad was hoping to go out for dinner, just the two of us, so he can question me about my goals and aspirations.”

A chuckle escaped Derek’s mouth, “Good luck. I hear the Sheriff’s interrogations are quite intimidating.”

“Dude,” Stiles laughed, “Don’t even get me started on that.” With that, Stiles walked over to his car, hopped in, and began his trek back to his dad’s place.


End file.
